


They Had Forever

by sherlockian4evr



Series: Getting It Together [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Drugs, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John both want the same thing, each other, but neither realizes that the other feels the same way. It takes a near crisis to bring them together. Once together, John discovers that Sherlock is insecure and it is up to him to change that.</p><p>Beta read by Sherlock1110.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Had Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verdant_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdant_fire/gifts).



In recent months, Mycroft had relaxed his surveillance of his brother, not much, but just enough. It had made it ridiculously easy for Sherlock to score, the evidence of which was hidden discretely in his trouser pocket. In fact, the vial of seven-percent solution weighed heavily in his pocket.

Sherlock glanced up nervously from his chair to peer at his flatmate. The grey-golden haired man was the catalyst for the consulting detective's current actions. At the moment, he was also acting as a stabilizing agent, preventing Sherlock from finding a safe location to shoot up. The two opposing forces were threatening to rip the consulting detective apart.

That was the crux of the problem. Sometime during the last few months, Sherlock had realized that he had developed  _feelings_  for one John Hamish Watson. Very inconvenient feelings.

Sherlock found himself watching John constantly, taking in the flow of his movements, the fluidity of his expressions, the sheer perfection that was John. Each time this happened, the consulting detective eventually had to excuse himself to attend to a growing problem.

Sherlock had never given much thought to sexual matters prior to this. A quick wank when absolutely necessary was all he had acceded to his transport's requirements. Further experimentation had seemed unnecessary. Now he regretted that decision. Perhaps, he thought, a catalogue of past sexual encounters would have allowed him to ignore, and move past, his current obsession. He should have experimented long ago. Now it was too late. Hence the distraction in his pocket.

John was struggling to ignore the feeling of his flatmate's eyes. He could feel their heavy weight on him. It was nothing new for Sherlock to lock his gaze on the doctor for hours on end as the man thought, but lately something had changed. John knew it was all in his head, of course. Clearly nothing had changed for the consulting detective, but lately the doctor felt a heat slowly building in his groin whenever the other man became lost in thought, his eyes locked on John.

The fact was, John admitted, that he was sexually attracted to Sherlock. Still, there was confusion in the doctor's mind. If he wasn't heterosexual as he had always believed, then why, he wondered, wasn't he attracted to other men in general? This had driven him into Sherlock's realm of research. After much internet browsing, he stumbled across the term sapiosexual. It seemed to fit. Apparently it meant being attracted to someone based on that person's intelligence and often cutting wit. In other words,  _Sherlock_.

John made a point of honouring honesty at all times, even with himself. So fine. He was attracted to Sherlock. The problem was, that his friend didn't  _do_ that. So again John plunged into research. This time, his findings were just as revealing but much less welcome.

After their aborted meal that first night at Angelo's, John had assumed that Sherlock identified as homosexual but did not pursue a relationship because he was "married to his work". Now, he had discovered the concept of asexuality wherein an individual genuinely had no interest in sexual physicality. The more that he read, the more he was convinced that this was the case with the consulting detective. So he wasn’t competing with The Work, which was merely hopeless. He was up against a biological fact which was so much more hopeless. That was it then, he would have to redirect his libido in other directions.

That was easier said than done when the inconvenient object of John’s current infatuation was ethereally gorgeous. It didn’t matter if Sherlock dressed in one of his form-fitting suits that displayed his lithe body to perfection or lounged about in his dressing gown and pyjamas, he was a vision. On the rare occasions that the consulting detective dragged out of his room wearing only a sheet, John found that he was forced to find an excuse to leave the flat lest his obvious arousal come to his flatmate’s attention. The doctor didn’t know how much more he could take. 

Sherlock was disgusted with himself. This had gone on long enough, pining for his flatmate was absurd. His body was nothing more than  _transport_. He would master his transport once again. The consulting detective had made his way to the sofa, not bothering with more than a sheet. He was simply counting the minutes until John left for his shift at the clinic. It couldn’t be soon enough. Just one shot of his seven-percent solution. One hit to clear his mind. That was all it would take, he was sure. Just. One. Shot.

He heard John’s footsteps falter as the doctor entered the common room. “Sherlock.” His friend’s voice sounded tight. He must have had a less than satisfactory date last night. “I’m off to the clinic.”

“Hmm” was Sherlock’s only reply.

“Right, then.” John’s tone had gone acerbic. “Have a good day.” With that, the doctor exited the flat.

The consulting detective waited an appropriate amount of time to be sure that John wouldn’t be returning before rising to fetch the drug from its hiding place. Sherlock held the vial in his hand, his long elegant fingers grasping it tightly.  **John would never approve.**  He opened his hand and, lifting the vial between his thumb and forefinger, peered at the solution. Sherlock was mesmerized by the play of the light on the clear liquid as his thoughts wavered between the desire for the high and the fear of John’s disapproval. That’s why he missed the sounds of John’s return until it was too late.

The door to the flat banged open as the doctor barged in, complainingly vociferously about the condition of his clothing. An older man at the station had unceremoniously spilled a full cup of coffee on him just as he was about to get on the tube. His diatribe was cut off instantaneously by the vision that greeted him, Sherlock, sheet forgotten, standing entranced by a vial held up to the light. “What the bloody hell is that!”

Sherlock turned, guilt and shock written large across his face. Before he could react properly, John had tackled him and they were engaged in a battle for the vial of liquid. It was quite the tussle. Sherlock’s elbow found John’s stomach. John’s knee found Sherlock’s side. They rolled around on the floor knocking the random piles of books and case files into further disarray. In the end, the army doctor succeeded in pining Sherlock down and snatching the vial from the consulting detective’s grasp. His position atop Sherlock’s naked form wasn’t the least bit arousing, he was too angry with the man.

John’s voice shook with anger. “Seriously, what the _fuck_ are you thinking?” Sherlock didn’t answer and wouldn’t meet his eyes. John stood up and just looked down at the man, his hands fisted at his sides. “Right. Get your arse up off the floor, get dressed. Then we are going to talk.” He paused. When Sherlock still didn’t move, he added “Now!”

Like a sullen toddler, the consulting detective rose to his feet and shuffled to his room. His bedroom door slammed behind him.

John turned and kicked the nearest object he could find, the wastebasket, before stalking to the kitchen. Once there, he placed the vial in the sink. The doctor rummaged through the cabinets until he found a heavy pot and used it to smash the vial into small pieces. It required enormous force and the bloody thing kept rolling out of the way, but he was so furious that he managed it. It was incredibly satisfying. John ran water over the residue in the sink to wash away the drug then used a flannel to scoop the glass and metal into the bin. When he was done, he heard the sound of Sherlock slinking back into the common room.

The consulting detective was perched in his chair, knees drawn up to his chest. He had slipped on his pyjama bottoms, a tee shirt, and his dressing gown. Sherlock’s every mannerism indicated vulnerable defensiveness. Anyone else would be facing a cold mask of indifference in this situation, but not John. John was privileged to see the true man that hid himself away from the rest of the world. It was for this reason that the doctor expended the effort to calm himself before joining Sherlock. Whatever this was about, it had to be serious to drive the other man back to his addiction. Yelling wouldn’t help the situation.  **Keep calm Watson.**

First, the doctor had to determine how long Sherlock had been using. He truly thought that this was the first time the other man had been so close to using since John had moved into the flat, but he would have to ask and hope like hell that Sherlock would tell the truth.

John sat down across from the consulting detective and waited a few moments until the other man finally met his eyes. It was brief, but Sherlock finally locked eyes with him and John took that as his cue to speak. “First, please tell me how many times...” His voice cracked unexpectedly. “How many times you’ve done this since I’ve been living here?”

“Just this once.” Sherlock’s voice was quiet and had dropped into an incredibly low range. “I obviously can’t offer evidence to cover the entire period, but…” With this, Sherlock stood and approached his flatmate arms outstretched, ready for examination.

John accepted the offer and examined the proffered arms. He breathed easier after finding no evidence of recent drug use marring his friend’s alabaster flesh. Sherlock could have injected himself elsewhere, but the doctor decided to take the evidence at face value, for now. He nodded and the consulting detective retreated back to his chair, resuming his previous position.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John let out a great sigh. At least, he thought, the fire of addiction hadn’t been fully rekindled yet. Sherlock was just flirting with danger. Now to defuse the situation if he could. “You know how I feel about the drugs, Sherlock. And I know that a lecture is pointless. So let’s just get to the heart of this. Tell me why? Just do that for me. Please, just tell me why.” John had tried his best to keep his voice level and he had succeeded for the most part. Now all he could do was wait.

John watched in amazement as Sherlock’s shoulders actually trembled. “Please, John. I can’t talk about this, not with you. It’s a very personal issue that I have to come to terms with on my own.” The consulting detective’s voice was filled with pleading, but John chose ignore it.

“I really can’t let this go, Sherlock. Neither of us are leaving this room until we’ve sorted this out.” John’s voice was firm, he wasn’t going to be moved.

Sherlock tucked his head into his knees and fought to reign in his rampaging feelings while trying to focus his mind on the problem at hand. He needed to find a way to circumvent John’s determination. No matter how hard he tried, the consulting detective failed to find a solution to the current conundrum. He felt stripped bare, raw and exposed. He would lose his friend over this, it was inevitable. John would never forgive him for turning to drugs for comfort. It was all a lost cause anyway, the consulting detective thought. He would reveal the truth. Sherlock would steal one longed-for kiss before John left the flat forever.

Rising from his armchair, Sherlock asked, “Do you really want to know the reason for this, John?” His gaze was focused sharply on his friend, the object of his desire.

John’s answer was instant. “You know I do.”

This was it, the last few minutes of Sherlock’s life with his best friend. He would record these moments in his Mind Palace to sustain him through the years to come. There would never be another man like John.

Sherlock approached the doctor and motioned for him to stand. Puzzled, John complied. Immediately, the consulting detective grasped John’s hips, leaned in, and brushed his lips against the other man’s mouth. John didn’t pull away, rather, his mouth opened beneath Sherlock’s own and the kiss was deepened. The doctor’s hands came up and wrapped around the consulting detective’s torso as his tongue urged Sherlock’s own mouth to open to his probing. The kiss lengthened and threatened to overwhelm the consulting detective before it was finally broken.

The two men pulled back from each other slightly but did not break their embrace. John spoke first. “But I thought you didn’t do  _this_.”

Sherlock smiled. “I thought you weren’t gay.”

John blushed. “As you so often urge, I did my research. Apparently I’m sapiosexual.”

“Oh.” It was Sherlock’s turn to blush. “Apparently I only do  _this_  when it’s you.”

The doctor leaned his head against Sherlock’s chest. “We’re a right pair aren’t we? I’ve been fantasising about you for months.”

“And I’m an idiot. I’ve been fantasising about  _you_  for months.” Sherlock laughed and his face lit up. John tipped his head back just to admire the crinkles that appeared at the corners of the consulting detective’s eyes.

They had made their way to Sherlock’s bedroom, stopping often for impassioned kissing along the way. Once there, John had wasted no time in removing his own clothing but Sherlock simply stood there awkwardly, though his eyes lingered on the doctor’s form. Of course, John didn’t notice that, he only noticed that Sherlock wasn’t undressing. It was a very puzzled John Watson that approached the consulting detective. He wondered if he had somehow misunderstood. “Sherlock?”

The tall man looked away awkwardly, which was strange in itself. The blush that crawled up Sherlock’s neck and across his cheeks was unprecedented. John felt like the idiot that his friend often named him. “Christ. Sorry. Just… let’s forget this.” He started gathering his clothes from where they lay, discarded.

It was Sherlock’s deep baritone, barely a whisper, which stopped him. “No, John. Wait.” The consulting detective had reached out and placed a hand on John’s bare shoulder imploringly. Sherlock closed his eyes momentarily then began again. “You are so perfect John. You’re golden and handsome. Strong.” He paused. “I know what people think but it’s just a magic trick. There’s a reason that I wear tailored suits and my Belstaff. They are my armour. They make the most of my height and draw the eye from what is beneath. I’m nothing like you. I’m too lanky and pale. When you see…”

John cut Sherlock off with a laugh. “You idiot. Come here.” The doctor twined his hand into Sherlock’s curls and drew him down into another deep kiss. When John pulled back, he gently removed the consulting detective’s dressing gown and allowed it to drop to the floor. He then grasped the lower edge of Sherlock’s tee shirt and drew it up over the consulting detective’s torso. It joined the dressing gown. “Gorgeous,” John said as his hands roved over the alabaster flesh of Sherlock’s chest.

The consulting detective blushed furiously at this. “Please, John. You don’t have to say things that are not true.”

The doctor reached up and placed a single finger against Sherlock’s lips. “Quiet. Just listen to me for a bit… and believe that every word is true.” John knelt, hooking his thumbs beneath the waistband of the consulting detective’s pyjama bottoms and pants, and pulled them down with one swift motion. Sherlock stepped out of them and the doctor swept them away. He stood and gazed at the tall man in wonder. How, he wondered, could Sherlock have such a distorted self-image?

“You, Sherlock, are absolutely gorgeous.” John urged the consulting detective to sit, then lie back on the bed. He manoeuvred the other man into a more comfortable position on the bed before joining him. The doctor couldn’t resist, he moved in closer to the consulting detective and straddled his hips. He allowed his hands to caress Sherlock’s chest, as he bent down to lave at the other man’s exposed throat. “Your long neck is mesmerising.” John nipped at the tender flesh over the consulting detective’s carotid artery before peppering the area with small kisses. “It was made to be kissed.” Sherlock’s resulting moans shot directly to the doctor’s cock.

John’s kisses moved lower, gradually making their way down to Sherlock’s chest. He allowed his hands to roam over the consulting detective’s torso then down along his sides to stroke along his rib cage. “You called yourself pale. That’s entirely the wrong word.” The doctor’s tongue swirled around Sherlock’s nipple and he sucked gently at the nub before pulling away. The consulting detective’s body arched into the doctor's attentions. “Your skin is alabaster. It’s as smooth as marble but infinitely more supple and a delight to touch.” John moved his mouth to lavish the consulting detective’s other nipple with attention before licking a stripe down to Sherlock’s navel. Once there, John dipped his tongue in and teased the other man’s navel with licks and kisses. This elicited a low moan from the consulting detective.

Moving further downward, but avoiding Sherlock’s cock and bollocks, John’s calloused fingers stroked along the length of Sherlock’s legs, revelling in the feel of the strong muscles. “These legs are long and strong. I can feel the strength in them and it’s incredibly arousing.” The doctor stroked them again, eliciting a squirm and groan from the consulting detective. “I can imagine them wrapping around me and pulling me tight against your body.” John dipped down and kissed along Sherlock’s inner thighs, stroking with his tongue and lips. The consulting detective’s legs shifted of their own will and the doctor had to pin them to the bed with his strong hands as he continued trailing kisses downward along his thighs and calves.

As he reached Sherlock’s feet, John asked, “How do you feel?” He was answered with a muffled “Humph” of satisfaction. In response, the doctor began massaging the pads of Sherlock’s feet. He pressed his thumbs firmly into each muscle group and circled slowly. Then he bent down and pressed a kiss to each toe of the consulting detective’s foot in turn. “Good?” Sherlock’s toes wriggled in satisfaction and John smiled broadly.

“Time to flip over, gorgeous.” The consulting detective complied lazily. Now John worked his way back up Sherlock’s legs. When he reached the back of the other man’s knees, the consulting detective’s legs folded up and the man let out a fit of giggles.

“So, my amazing man is ticklish?” That being said, John attacked the delicate flesh with licks and delicate kisses. This went on for some time until they were both breathing heavily from the laughter. John finally relented when Sherlock begged, “Please John!”

John’s hands resumed their caress of Sherlock’s body. When his hands caressed Sherlock’s arse, the consulting detective let out a low moan of pleasure. “Your arse is perfect. It’s smooth, soft, and gorgeously padded.” The doctor dipped and licked the pucker of Sherlock’s hole. The consulting detective’s hips bucked at the unexpected sensation and he let out his loudest moan yet. John lavished his hole with licks and kisses for some time while his hands massaged his arse.

Finally, John moved onward, his hands caressing the smooth expanse of Sherlock’s back. “Christ. Your back is so smooth. I can feel the ripple of your muscles beneath my hands.” John licked a stripe from the base of Sherlock’s spine up between his shoulder blades.

The consulting detective’s head was turned to the side, so John took the opportunity to take the other man’s mouth with his own and place an awkward kiss to his lips. “Your eyes are magnificent. I never know what to expect. One moment they are the palest silver. The next, they are the most vibrant blue. Your lips are a plush pink invitation to kisses. Your dark curls make me want to run my hands through your hair.” John stole another kiss. “Every centimetre of your body is an invitation to me. A study in perfection.” There was still doubt in Sherlock’s eyes. “I will tell you this and more every day until you finally believe me you gorgeous creature.”

Sherlock rolled over onto his back and looked into John’s eyes with loving disbelief. “John…” He faltered, then instead of completing the sentence, he pulled the doctor close in an embrace. The consulting detective didn’t know how to say thank you with words, so instead, he took John in hand and began stroking him with long slow strokes. The doctor tipped he head against Sherlock’s chest and let out a moan of pleasure.

Continuing his ministrations, Sherlock ran his thumb over the head of John’s cock then along the ridge just beneath. The consulting detective’s other hand came up to caress the doctor’s bollocks as he increased the pressure and speed of his strokes. The sounds that John made, fed Sherlock’s own arousal and drove him to work more furiously toward the doctor’s release. John’s orgasm finally came with the doctor shuddering and shouting Sherlock’s name. The resulting ribbons of semen coated the consulting detective’s hand and both of their abdomens. Sherlock tasted it, savouring the thought of taking John’s DNA into his own body.

The sudden sensation of John’s hand wrapped around the consulting detective’s cock almost overwhelmed Sherlock. There was a moment of almost electrical sensation as his body spasmed under the doctor’s touch. “Fuck, Sherlock. Just like that.” When John’s hand began to move, the consulting detective threw his head back and started mumbling, the words making no sense to the doctor but encouraging him in his ministrations. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to tip over the edge with an incoherent cry that was almost enough to rouse the interest of John’s cock again.

It was clear that the Sherlock wouldn’t be rousing anytime soon, so John fetched a flannel and cleaned them both as best as he could. He manoeuvred his lover to the middle of the bed and joined him there.

His last thought before falling asleep was of the months that they had wasted. But that didn’t really matter. 

Now they had forever.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.


End file.
